


rumbling canon

by PerksOfImmortality (akahomie)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Character Study, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), Introspection, M/M, Modern Era, Post-Canon, Post-Magic Reveal, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-15 06:30:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21248957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akahomie/pseuds/PerksOfImmortality
Summary: Arthur does not understand immortality.





	rumbling canon

The future is bright, but not all the time.

Sometimes it is rainy, noisy, covered in foul-smelling, hazy smoke from those contraptions people use now instead of horses and those large fortresses Merlin tells him are called factories. Arthur asks about the rain, about the city they’re in, and mutters about how he can’t remember the lands a bit southeast of Camelot ever being this rainy as he and Merlin scramble to get out of the rain and into the small house they share. Their muddy boots trample the rain-soaked grass of the front porch, well tended to and trimmed as per one of Merlin’s many past times.

Merlin’s house is quaint, cozy, and just the right size for two people. It’s nestled in a neighborhood with widely spaced houses and lots of greenery. It’s also much quieter than the city, which is an hour away. _I bought the lot decades ago because I always knew the city would grow too dense and polluted, _Merlin tells him. _I don’t like the concept of flats, either; feels like living in an inn_. Arthur communicates succinctly with an incredulous stare how strange it is to predict things decades into the future, but Merlin only shrugs and says that being an all-powerful warlock has its perks.

They change out of their wet clothes and Arthur asks about automobiles, asks _What is it with those things that makes me so bloody sick, Merlin? If I didn’t know better I’d say they were slowly killing me_. Merlin speculates with a thoughtful frown, talking of motion sickness and, _Maybe it’s the closed space that gets to you. I wonder how you’ll do with airplanes_. Arthur regrets asking what airplanes are afterwards, feels sick to his stomach just at the thought of them. Merlin pets his hair comfortingly and tells him, _But you do just fine with motorcycles, don’t you_?

Arthur hums in agreement, wistful at the memory of the last time he’d gotten to ride one. Motorcycles are so different from the other vehicles of this age for how open they are, how free Arthur feels riding atop one with the wind whipping at him from all directions as he chases the horizon with naught accompanying him but the open sky and the long road ahead. It’s a surplus delight that when Arthur speeds up even more while already riding fast, it makes Merlin at his back cling onto him for dear life, wrapping his arms securely around Arthur’s middle and burying his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck while hissing, _You’re gonna kill us! I swear you’re gonna kill us; one thousand and change years of prophecies and destiny and it all ends in a damn traffic accident._

Once the starlit night has covered the sky like a blanket, Arthur and Merlin sit in front of the fireplace to share a quiet dinner. Merlin lights a fire with a whispered spell, and Arthur gazes into his eyes, searching for that ethereal, split-second glimpse of gold that has become so familiar to him now, but no less beautiful and otherworldly than the first time Arthur saw it long, long ago in another life. They talk for hours with no regard as to time, their only movements being how they slowly grow closer together over the course of the evening until Arthur is lying down with his head in Merlin’s lap, watching the firelight dance across Merlin’s features while Arthur listens to him speak.

Arthur asks about factories, and Merlin talks about their history and their function. Merlin is smiling at him, always patient as he watches Arthur piece together the many mysteries that wrap around each other to tell the story of how life has changed in the past thousand years since he’d last been around. Arthur’s brows knit together as he inquires, _Is that why people seem to have so many... _things _now? _And he can feel a mild headache coming on for next half hour as Merlin explains capitalism to him.

***

They travel a lot, for the better part of each year.

Arthur discovers that Merlin loves long journeys, unfamiliar skylines, fresh scenery, and new people. Arthur finds that he can’t stop referring to the present as the future, but he doesn’t really care because words are just words. What matters to him is the way this new life so quickly imprints in his mind as the _only _life, making his thousand year old memories seem so intangible and far away.

Days after opening his eyes to this new era and Arthur already can’t imagine for the life of him what it was like to live without Merlin asleep beside him on a waiting shed with his head on Arthur’s shoulder, snoring softly as Arthur watches the sun set behind their backs; without Merlin kissing him awake every morning and tempting him out of dreamland with the scent of a scrumptious breakfast waiting to be inhaled; without Merlin, eyes blazing as he recites an incantation that summons a glowing path to guide them after they veer off a well-worn hiking trail.

They travel and they travel, and Merlin fills the hours in between landmarks and stops with endless stories about each place’s history, descriptions about how everything was the last time Merlin had been there, how and when it had most likely changed, what he used to do and who he used to meet. Arthur listens raptly, laughs at the stories, compares Merlin’s collection of photographs with the real things, and takes a bite out of whatever local delicacy Merlin offers him before taking a bite out of it himself.

_This is Albion, _Merlin tells him at each destination. _This is the land we’re destined to protect_. And little by little, everything feels less like a prophesied destiny to Arthur and more like a passion, something his heart is adamant about instead of something he feels like he’s supposed to do. The two are markedly different, especially to someone like Arthur who had once spent a lifetime learning to carve out distinctions between duty and desire.

Sometimes, they meet people, and even rarer still, those people recognize Merlin. There are polite greetings and questions and anecdotes. Sometimes there are remarks along the lines of: _You look just like your grandfather. I know because my da used to show me photographs taken back when da was young. He was such a jolly old soul, you know? I miss him so much. _Merlin smiles at them and humors them graciously like any good guest would, but Arthur is close enough to see the sadness in his eyes—that thousand year old weariness.

In these moments, Arthur thinks, he does not understand immortality. Not in the least. He doubts he is capable of understanding, and for all the determination he has to hear all of Merlin’s stories and experience all the same things, this is one thing Merlin can never truly share with him.

***

Sometimes, they talk of the past.

During times like these, this new era feels like a continuation after the long intermission that was their time apart. First things first, Arthur figures, and he wastes no time making Merlin tell him of every time he can remember wherein he’d used magic right under Arthur’s nose. Merlin recounts numerous years worth of tales.

He talks again of their first meeting, and then talks of the first time he met Gaius, of caves and flowers and guiding lights, of murderous magical beasts, of Fae and lakes, of druids and love spells, of the Cup of Life and a crying Uther, of opportunistic servants and dead sorcerers, of jousts and assassins, of cage fights and evil stepmothers and magically summoned toads, of court sorcerers and dead mothers and miraculous births, of poison and dragons and futures not yet born, of goblins and knights and Fae wives, of quests and an old man’s enchantments, of tourneys and undead armies and ghosts, of serpents and swords in stones, of bandits and towers and weddings, of foreign lands and dreams, of tipping fights ever so slightly in Arthur’s favor as he dances with death, of the one fight he’d been unable to tamper with the outcome, of secrets and heartbreak and betrayals.

Arthur learns of Merlin’s many tells as he goes through these stories and more. Slowly, Arthur learns the difference between when Merlin is struggling to remember details and when he’s only pretending not to remember. He learns when Merlin’s reluctant to tell him something, when he’s afraid Arthur will somehow think less of him with the new knowledge, and (Arthur’s favorite) when he’s enthused to finally let Arthur hear something he’s always wanted to tell him. All the while, Arthur remains enraptured, eager to find out all there possibly is to know and see Merlin’s eyes light up as he speaks animatedly with his face, his hands, his whole body.

A pang of something unnameable hits Arthur square in the chest when he recalls the last time he saw Merlin a thousand years ago, how it had seemed so premature of him to leave back then with so much still left unsaid between the two of them. But he needn’t worry any more, because while there may still be years of lies and omission left to be untangled, now they have all the time in the world to do just that.

***

The Merlin of this era is much harder to fathom out than the Merlin of yore.

Merlin now is much more open, but also more unpredictable. Without holding back, he lets Arthur see what he’s capable of, the limits of his abilities, which he used to keep so tightly under guard and only let show when there’s no one around to see. For the first time, Arthur can witness and marvel at the brilliant man before him, and his heart soars with happiness at the privilege of being allowed to see this brilliant man for who he really is.

Back then, the thought of Merlin filled Arthur’s senses with the texture of well worn cotton, the scent of freshly gathered medicinal herbs, and the shine of polished metal. Merlin’s more open because now, the thought of him sparks Arthur’s imagination with the corporeal-yet-not sensation of holding a glowing magical orb that floats in a warm room in place of candlelight, the taste of chamomile and honey on a lazy autumn morning, and the sound of humming from the garden where flowers that had been left alone for months bloom elatedly back to life under one sorcerer’s special touch.

But Merlin’s more unpredictable because now, the thought of him summons to memory instances where Arthur is reading one moment; the next, Merlin is behind him. He’s covering Arthur’s eyes with both his hands and Arthur can’t help his ear-splitting grin when Merlin starts leading him to their bedroom. The excitement doesn’t abate once Arthur is sat down on the foot of the bed. Then, Merlin lets go and Arthur is greeted with the sight of his old chambers in Camelot. Mouth agape, Arthur stares at Merlin with childlike wonder, wanting to ask _how is this possible _and _how is it that you still remember it perfectly? _When Merlin only smiles at him, Arthur knows that the answers are: _always has been _and _of course I do_.

***

Being so close, closer than he has ever been, Arthur is for once allowed to see the cracks in between the powerful magic and the unbreakable will.

The cracks aren’t often visible because Merlin by nature keeps them as close to the chest as he can, hidden deeper into himself than even his magic was back in Camelot. However, these cracks lend themselves to the light during late nights when Merlin awakes from a nightmare with a scream of Arthur’s name, gasping and sitting up on their bed. He’s searching, always searching, but Arthur will never get tired of reminding him that he’s here, that they’re finally together again—at long last.

He’ll never tire of stroking Merlin’s cheek, telling him to look at him, to focus on Arthur and to let everything else disappear. He’ll never tire of pulling Merlin onto his lap, of kissing the corners of his eyelids and willing the tears to stop falling. He’ll never tire of letting Merlin embrace him tight as a vice, and murmur repeatedly into his shoulder, _I can’t lose you again. Gods, I was so alone. I felt like it would never end. I can’t take it, not again. Please, _please_ don’t leave me, Arthur. There’s no point to it all without you_.

And Arthur will never tire of shushing him, calming him while rubbing soothing circles onto his back, and reassuring him with promises he fully intends to keep, everything else be damned: _Shh, I’m here. I’m right here, Merlin. I’m not leaving you. I’m never leaving you again_.

It feels like hours and hours have passed when Merlin finally quiets and pulls back to meet Arthur’s eyes with his own, puffy and red from crying. But all the waiting is worth it for the tender and unsure way Merlin presses his lips against Arthur’s in a _thank you_, as if still searching after all this time, and it’s the least Arthur can do to kiss back firmly, to reassure Merlin—with his solid presence and warmth and closeness—that he’s here to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! please r&r, if it's not too much to ask. <3
> 
> and go talk to me on tumblr! i'm @ [perksofimmortality](https://perksofimmortality.tumblr.com/) :D
> 
> edit: hey, so i just realized this coincides with merlin inktober day 31's prompt: return! so consider this my contribution to merlin inktober!


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